


In Another Life

by loves_books



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Community: lewis_challenge, M/M, Trope Challenge, musician au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6570544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robbie would have to admit that it felt good to be back on the road with the band again after a few years away from the music scene, and the young blond lad perched on a stool with his guitar promised to make things more interesting still.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Another Life

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Wendymr for the incredibly helpful beta!

It felt good to be out on the road again, Robbie would have to admit to himself, though the admission came with a grudging sort of happiness he hadn’t quite expected to feel. Not that they were truly ‘on the road’, of course, not like the endless tours they’d been used to undertaking in years gone by. 

It wasn’t going to be anything like the months on end the band had all spent living out of battered old tour buses, which, now Robbie thought about it, was probably a good thing, given how badly his back liked to play up these days if he slept on anything but his own orthopaedic mattress.

Still, it was a tour of sorts; a series of gigs at smaller yet still popular venues on the outskirts of London and slightly further afield, getting the band and their music back into people’s minds after a few years away from the scene. Some new music, a whole lot of old favourites, and then back home every night.

Oxford, though. Why on earth did their first gig have to be in Oxford, of all places?

Robbie knew, of course, that the rest of the band were carefully avoiding the whole subject, and had been doing so since the day they’d finalised the tour arrangements. He was grateful for their tact, he supposed, after a fashion – the last thing he wanted or needed was sympathy. But still, Oxford…

Oxford was Val’s, and always would be. Robbie had moved to Oxford to be with her when they’d first been married and had fallen head-over-heels in love with the city himself, but now he saw her standing on every cobbled street corner, and waiting in the backstage area of every club and pub _Endeavour_ had ever played at. 

He’d run from Oxford after her death, and run from the band, too, though they’d been as understanding as they could. More understanding than Robbie felt he would have been, to be brutally honest, if one of the others had left them in the lurch the way he’d done.

He’d spent a few years in London as a jobbing drummer-for-hire, surprised by how easy it had been to blend in with the crowds of wannabe rock stars. If he’d been lead singer or perhaps even one of the guitarists, he would’ve been recognised more frequently than he had been, but drummers, and particularly drummers like Robbie Lewis, tended to be far more anonymous unless they really wanted to stand out.

Robbie had never wanted to stand out. He’d only ever wanted to play.

And he’d not been lonely in London, far from it. The music scene was lively enough and varied enough to bring him into contact with a wide assortment of interesting people, and Robbie had been able to forget his grief for a time, by finding out the stories that had brought others to such a bustling yet anonymous city. 

He hadn’t always been alone, either. He hadn’t been the only one running from something, nor the only one seeking out friendly company, in whatever form that might take. Still, it had always surprised him, when some bloke he’d been sharing a pint with invited him up to his hotel room, or some lovely lady slipped a not-so-subtle hand onto his inner thigh.

Mostly, he’d made his polite excuses and backed away, but sometimes... Sometimes the loneliness had grown too much to bear, and the alcohol had overruled his better sense.

Finally, after long years away, he’d reached the stage where he felt he was ready to try to move on with his life, or at least to reclaim what might have been left of the life he’d used to have. He wasn’t over Val, not entirely – and he knew, of course, that perhaps he never would be – but the pain of her death had faded to a dull ache Robbie had found he could almost live with.

And so now, this was meant to be their comeback tour. Not that they’d had a whole lot to come back to. _Endeavour_ had never quite managed to break into the big time, and while their particular brand of folk-rock had its own group of loyal followers, it had never produced anything more than a single top-twenty hit. They’d played the smaller stages at Glastonbury once or twice, and made more than enough to live on, but fame had never quite come calling.

Still, in spite of all the bittersweet memories that had come rushing back on his return to Oxford, it really had felt bloody good to sit back down in the studio with his old bandmates, his drumsticks in hand, and now to be standing backstage at the Jericho once again. Val had always stood in the wings during their shows here, even when the kids had been small, and had always been waiting to fling herself into Robbie’s arms when he came off stage, sweaty and exhausted yet riding high on the adrenaline of the music and the applause.

Those were happy memories, thankfully, though of course they were now tinged with the agony of knowing she was gone forever. No, not gone. Snatched away from Robbie – the bastard driver hadn’t even stopped after he’d hit her.

Shaking off the threatening melancholy, Robbie tried to get himself back in the right frame of mind for their opening night. _Endeavour_ were the headliners, but there were one or two warm-up acts playing as well, and he could hear the familiar noises of sound checks taking place on stage. Perhaps it was time to see who else was on the bill.

Wandering through the twisty corridors back of house, Robbie soon emerged into the main room, and he worked his way along the back wall in order to avoid the group of chattering technicians with their clipboards and headsets. No one seemed to be paying much attention to the young man on stage, who was all alone with only his guitar for company, perched on a stool.

Robbie found a place to sit near the bar and watched the lad as he ran through a series of chords and scales, his long fingers deft and sure over his instrument, a beautiful Gibson L-5 if Robbie wasn’t mistaken. Then, seamlessly, he shifted into a driving rhythmic strumming, and began to sing.

No one in the room stopped what they were doing in order to listen, which was just as Robbie would expect from a sound check with an obviously experienced crew – a few engineers played with some cables, one adjusted the spotlights, and someone unseen in a sound booth somewhere changed the levels on the microphone, the guitar fading to nothing before booming loud as the vocals abruptly disappeared.

Throughout all the adjustments, Robbie found himself sitting transfixed, listening intently as the man sang on, unaware or simply unconcerned by the goings-on nearby. He sang with a passion Robbie hadn’t heard for a long time, his deep baritone voice not the smoothest he’d ever heard but certainly one of the most expressive. And that driving guitar beat never stopped, the man’s talented fingers flying with ease across his instrument – he was good, Robbie realised, raw and unpolished but definitely not without potential.

And he was a good-looking lad, too, sure to have all the young lasses chasing him after every show. Even perched as he was on that high stool, seamlessly transitioning to a new song which was slower and slightly more sorrowful, Robbie could tell he was tall and lean, bordering on skinny, and he had a head of blond hair than seemed to almost glow beneath the spotlight.

Not as young as Robbie first thought, though; late thirties perhaps, or very early forties at the most. And definitely talented. Maybe he was even singing his own songs, as they felt new and fresh to Robbie’s ears, while still hinting back at older and more familiar styles. A touch of Dylan, even.

Robbie would have to ask the man about his inspiration. He felt his own hands twitching for his drumsticks, anxious to pick up the beat in accompaniment, though he wasn’t at all sure he would actually add anything.

When the second song was obviously drawing to a close, the guitarist stopped playing abruptly as a clipboard-wielding technician approached the stage, and Robbie watched as they conferred for a few minutes before parting ways, apparently satisfied with whatever they’d decided. The man placed his instrument safely back into its case and then, rather than heading off to the backstage area, he leapt down from the front of the stage with his guitar slung across his back and wound his way through the hovering techs.

A talented lad, and Robbie felt himself instinctively drawn to the man, knowing he had to meet him, to talk about his music for starters. 

“Hey there!” Robbie was up and on his feet in a heartbeat, winding his own way towards the other man before he could escape. “Hang on a mo’.”

Christ, the lad really was tall – six three, maybe even six four, though he hunched his shoulders ever so slightly and ducked his head as if trying to appear shorter. He stopped at Robbie’s call, though, looking around in confusion before catching Robbie’s eye and making his way closer.

“Hello?” he said cautiously, not quite statement nor question, his speaking voice every bit as deep as his singing voice had been, to Robbie’s surprise. “Can I help?”

Robbie held out a hand, and the taller man took it in a firm, dry grip, the familiar rough callouses of a guitar player obvious on his palm and fingers. “Just wanted to introduce myself,” he said with a smile. “I’m Robbie, Robbie Lewis. I’m with – ”

“ _Endeavour_. You’re the drummer with _Endeavour_. I know.” A half-smile that transformed the man’s long face and lit up his stormy eyes. “I’m James. James Hathaway.”

A lightbulb suddenly went on somewhere in the depths of Robbie’s brain – he remembered their manager Laura mentioning a singer-songwriter named James who was apparently going to be one to watch. “You’re joining us for the first two weeks, am I right?”

“Yes. It’s my first real tour, so I’m…” James shrugged awkwardly. “Bit nervous, honestly, but very happy to be here. I’ve been a huge fan of _Endeavour_ for years, so being on the same bill is a real privilege. ‘Remorseful Day’ was the first album I ever bought, and ‘Expiation’ is still possibly the best song I think I’ve ever heard. The chord sequences and tonal shifts, as well as the rhythm of the drums, are all so unique.” 

James’s words sounded sincere, and ‘Expiation’ was hardly one of their most well-known songs – though it had always been one of Robbie’s favourites as well – so perhaps it was more than just empty flattery. Still, that wasn’t the thing that stuck out most in Robbie’s mind.

“Your first tour?” Robbie was honestly surprised; James’s stage presence, even in this admittedly small venue and during a brief sound check, had been undeniable. “Would never have guessed it, man. You sounded great up there, and you looked right at home.”

“Really?” James’s face lit up at the simple praise, and Robbie abruptly realised they were still holding hands, squeezing the long fingers once more before letting the man go. “Thanks. I mean, coming from you, that’s… thank you.”

“I’m looking forward to hearing your full set. You write your own material?”

A firm nod, and James stood a little taller, adjusting the strap of his guitar case where it hung across his shoulder, breaking their eye contact. Robbie felt the loss with an unexpected pang. “Yeah, have done for years. I’m trying to make a go of it now, though, trying to make music my career.”

“What were you doing before, if I can be so nosy?”

Those dark eyes flickered back to hold Robbie’s gaze. “Trainee priest, then Oxfordshire police. I was a Detective Sergeant until a month ago.”

Robbie couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up from his chest, immediately worried that he might have offended the other man, but thankfully James laughed too, his pale cheeks colouring in an obvious blush. “You’re joking!”

“No, I’m really not.” The blush seemed to deepen, spreading down his neck and creeping beneath the open-necked shirt James wore, and Robbie clapped the younger man firmly on the shoulder in reassurance. He was starting to suspect that it had been a while since someone had shown much interest in James Hathaway, which seemed crazy – there was clearly so much going on underneath the surface, more than met the eye, certainly.

“You’ll have to tell me all about it sometime. Over a pint, maybe,” he suggested impulsively, somehow feeling this was a man he could sit comfortably with and chat to for a while. “If you want, anyhow. You must have loads of interesting stories. D’you know, I thought of being a copper myself when I was younger, before the band took off. We could’ve been partners, in another life.”

A shy smile was his reward, and James ducked his head as he opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he said was lost in a sudden ear-splitting burst of feedback as the next act – a trio of young women with bright blue hair and electric guitars – started their own sound check.

Robbie gestured towards the backstage area, hoping to continue the conversation for a little longer before _Endeavour_ took to the stage themselves, but felt almost disappointed when James shook his head. The other man took a step back, rummaging in the pockets of his skin-tight jeans until he produced a battered packet of cigarettes and a lighter, then nodded his head towards the front of house instead. James’s eyes were oddly hopeful, and he bit at his lower lip with a hint of nerves, waiting for Robbie’s response.

Barely hesitating, Robbie took a deep breath and nodded; they had time, certainly, before he’d have to start warming up with the band. Maybe even time to grab that pint.

Then, as he turned to lead the way, he was surprised to feel a warm hand slip onto the small of his back, and he glanced over his shoulder to see a tentative smile hovering on James’s face. Returning the smile, he allowed himself to be guided ahead of the taller man as they headed out together.


End file.
